


The Mansion

by Laure Alexander (ladyoneill)



Series: The Alpha Series [41]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/Laure%20Alexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I finally came up with a reason for Spike to be helping Buffy, so here it is, as he and Dru try to find somewhere to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mansion

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on February 11, 2000, before the previous fic which is why the summary reads as it does. Written for a challenge asking for romance, roses, apartment hunting, car wash, "God is Dead", someone blowing their nose, an unexpected gift from China (kind of fudged that one).

Spike looked around the cramped confines of the tenth apartment they'd looked at in the last three days and shook his head in resignation. It just wouldn't do. The walls were paper thin, the windows were too big, and the carpet was just incredibly tacky.

Drusilla waltzed out of the bedroom and pronounced, "Miss Edith doesn't like it."

Shrugging an apology at the rental agent, Spike took his love's hand and pulled her behind him out of the building and into the early Fall evening. The dusty DeSoto sat out front, and as Spike opened the passenger door, Drusilla balked at getting in, tugging her hand free of his.

"No. I don't want to sleep in there again. It's all nasty and dirty and full of stinky bottles and smoke and..."

Spike peeked in the door and had to admit that she was right about the amount of crap in the car, but it had been a long trip from Peru, and, being forced to return to Sunnydale for any reason, let alone having to help the Slayer, had called for a large amount of alcohol.

"Okay, well, we'll clean it out before daybreak." He reached for her and she danced another step backwards, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest.

"No."

"We have three more apartments to see," he said through gritted teeth.

"We have a perfectly good place to live."

Spike glared at her and slammed the door shut. "I'm not living in that mansion. I refuse. I'll spend the rest of my unlife in the bloody trunk of the car before I move in there."

"Daddy said we could live there."

"Daddy," Spike sneered, "forgets that most of my memories of that shithole are of him buggering me over any and every available surface."

Drusilla's face fell and tears filled her eyes. "And I was bad. I was bad and wicked and turned away from you." The tears fell and she sniffled and sobbed, "I understand. It's a bad, bad place, and I was a bad, bad girl who needs to be punished more." She sank against him, wrapping her fingers into the collar of his duster and crying on his chest. "You can never punish me enough for my betrayal, my Spike," she whispered hoarsely.

Sighing, Spike wrapped his arms around her, cradling her as she cried. Finally the tears stopped and Drusilla raised her head, as Spike dug in his pocket and pulled out an embroidered handkerchief. He handed it to her, saying gruffly, "Blow your nose, Dru."

As she obeyed, still sniffling, Spike sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out what to do next.

"I'll call and cancel the other appointments and we'll move into the mansion," he finally said, sighing heavily.

"But, it's a bad place, with bad memories. We'll find some place else, and you can spank me for even mentioning it."

Spike gave her a hard look and shook his head. "No, you're right. It's perfect. On the edge of town, secluded, with enough space to keep some animals for blood. It's already set up for vampire living. We'll make new memories," he added firmly.

Drusilla gave him a quavering smile and tucked the handkerchief into her purse, then opened the car door and slipped onto the seat. "Can we take the car to get washed first?"

"Whatever you want, my sweet."

*****

Twenty minutes later, while Spike was on the phone to the last rental agent, Drusilla stood, nose pressed to the glass, watching the car go through the automated car wash. The flashing lights and bursts of water enthralled her until she giggled uncontrollably.

*****

It took the car wash attendants another thirty minutes to clean the car out and vacuum and polish the interior. Drusilla had wanted candy apple scented air freshener, but Spike had put his foot down on that, so the leather smelled of evergreens. Truthfully, he preferred the stale tobacco and booze smell, but...

With one arm around his princess, he drove the car up the street towards the mansion, his heart sinking deeper and deeper into his chest as they got closer. Pulling to a stop in the driveway, he took a deep, unnecessary breath and got out of the car. Drusilla bounded out of the other side, her purse in one hand, Miss Edith in the other. As Spike retrieved two of their suitcases from the boot, she skipped up the walk to the front door.

From her purse, Drusilla pulled a key and unlocked the door. Opening it, she reached inside and turned on the foyer light. Dust glinted on the picture frames and the pieces of furniture, and the place smelled empty.

Spike managed to step one foot inside and set down the bags, then he backed out the door. Drusilla gave him a puzzled look, reaching for him, but he shook his head. "I can't...not yet, Dru. I...I gotta go think. I..." He tried to give her a reassuring smile. "I'll be back in a bit. You unpack and choose a room. Not Angel's, please," he added quickly.

"Okay."

Pulling the door shut behind him, Spike nearly ran back down the path and dove into the car. Peeling out of the driveway, he drove randomly, his mind awhirl, his heart aching.

*****

It was nearly dawn when Spike finally found the courage and strength to return to the mansion. He'd spent several hours sitting on a bluff on the edge of town, looking over the dark houses, drinking a pint of blood from Willie's. He'd gone over his deal with the Powers that Be, over and over, trying to find a loop hole, trying to find an out, trying to find away to not have to live in Sunnydale, but finally, like he had when they had originally made the deal, he'd come to the realization that he was well and truly stuck.

And, well and truly screwed.

He remembered the night after the deal had been struck. He had told Drusilla the bare bones and she had fought him wildly, ripping and tearing at him with her fangs and claws until he'd been forced to chain her to the wall.

Then she had begged him for forgiveness, begged him to punish her, but he didn't have the heart to do it. He'd left her chained for nearly forty-eight hours while he had made arrangements, and once she was subdued, he had packed their things, bundled her into the car, and headed North.

She hadn't asked why he had agreed to help the Slayer, and he would never tell her.

Could never tell her that because the restoration spell had been aborted before she had fully drained Angel, her body had begun to break down again. If he hadn't approached the Powers that Be on his hands and knees, begging for her life, she would have been dust by the end of the year.

But, he had, and the Powers that Be had granted his request. Perhaps they were intrigued by a vampire so deeply in love. Or, maybe they just wanted to help this particular Slayer survive. Or maybe they had a wicked a sense of humor and wanted to get their jollies by watching two mortal enemies fight on the same side.

It didn't matter. They had cured Drusilla. As long as he helped the Slayer until her death, and didn't contribute to that death, Drusilla would not die from deterioration from her original injuries.

Spike had told Angel. He had needed his sire to approach the Watcher. Angel hadn't made any comments, simply had done has Spike had asked. The younger male would be eternally grateful that Angel had just let the whole thing lie, for the moment at least.

And, so, here he was, in Sunnyhell, to help the Slayer. He couldn't kill and had to keep Drusilla from killing, too. He had to turn on his own race.

Spike never once thought about if it was worth it.

Drusilla was worth everything. Even living in the mansion that held only bad memories.

After coming to terms with their new living space, Spike had stopped at an all night grocery and picked up a few things, then had headed home.

The main level was dark, but he heard the soft strums of a guitar and piano coming from upstairs. Clutching his gift in his hand, he took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the memories that pressed upon him.

It would help that he'd never actually been upstairs.

The music--a soft romantic song--led him into the bedroom at the end of the main wing. Opening the door, his eyes drank in the sight of his beautiful goddess draped across the bed wearing only a sheer black chemise. Drusilla lay on her stomach, one leg up in the air, her purple painted toes waving to the music, as she read from a hard back book. The room was lit by a dozen candles, the scent of roses filling the air.

As she looked up, Spike pulled a large bouquet of long stem red roses from behind his back. "Maybe you'd like to smell the real thing?"

Drusilla smiled and sat up, setting aside her book, one that had obviously come from the large stack on the night stand. As she did so, he noticed the title and smirked at the poof's choice in reading material. 'God is Dead'?

Taking the roses and lifting them to her face, Drusilla inhaled deeply. "They're lovely."

"Not as lovely as you." He sat down on the bed facing her, and, as she lay the roses aside, he leaned forward and kissed her, cupping her chin in one strong hand.

"Are you okay with being here?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes."

And, as he lowered her onto the bed, he proceeded to show her just how 'okay' he was.

*****

At the crack of dawn there was a loud thump against the front door, which, to his sensitive vampiric ears sounded to Spike like someone had battered at the door with a telephone pole. Grumbling, he staggered from the bed and stumbled naked down the stairs. His robe was still packed and he wasn't in the mood to try to pull on skin tight jeans. Whomever was at the door was going to get an ass chewing and a good show.

Dimly recalling that the door was on the West side of the house, Spike yanked it open and stared blankly into the early morning gloom.

No one was there.

He looked right and left, then glanced down. At his feet was a rolled up newspaper. Spike stopped and picked it up, staring uncomprehendingly at the Chinese characters.

"Why in Satan's name does peaches get a Chinese newspaper?" he mumbled before tossing it into the bushes and going back inside to his warm bed and his adoring lover.

End


End file.
